


A Poor Bedside Manner

by ThoseFiveChicks



Series: Grace's Magical AU [3]
Category: Maggot Boy
Genre: I'll be writing about him soon, M/M, Micah is more mentioned than involved, and on your right you will see my biggest BrOTP of many fandoms, on your left you will see a romantic pair I do not ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red mages are terrible healers, but that doesn't mean Owen doesn't try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Poor Bedside Manner

It was good that Micah was a healer, but when his best friend— tentative soon to be Bond, maybe? The situation was a bit weird— was busy with God only knew what, any healings he needed fell to... the less skilled.

“Stop fucking _twitching_ , Parker!” Owen exclaimed.

“I can't help it,” Parker shot back, twitching again as another spark shot between Owen's hand and Parker's ribs. “You're awful at this.”

“Yeah, well, I dropped out of H 'n' H a year and a half ago and I haven't used it since, so I really don't know what it is you're expecting, Princess.”

Owen tried again, a look of concentration and a spark, followed by a curse.

“I think it's chipping away at it, at least,” Parker offered. “I think siphoning is supposed to make healing a little easier, want me to—”

“Please.”

Parker put his hand under Owen's on his ribs, and with a few sparks the pain was gone. A siphoning was not a healing, nothing even close, but as he'd said, it made things easier and less painful, and he'd gotten good at them over the years. His self-healing skills were improving, but they still hadn't progressed far enough to heal a broken bone.

“Alright, now sit still,” Owen ordered, and this time the spark was a steady beam. There was a quiet snapping sound, and Parker shivered. It didn't matter if you were healing a broken bone or a bruise or a concussion or a ripped muscle, there was always that snap and shiver if it had worked properly.

“Yeah, that's good.”

“Wanna make sure—”

“You're wasting your energy, didn't you hear that snap?”

“That was a good snap?”

“Yes, Owen. So stop it.”

“I'll relearn this stuff eventually,” Owen told him, cutting off the spell. “I mean, if it helps.”

“Micah's got it. Usually.”

“Yeah, well, where is he?”

“Busy, but I'll probably see him at lunch. He _is_ a Black mage.”

“Yeah, well, healer's still not worth anything if he's not around, so I should relearn this shit.”

Parker was quiet for a moment, putting his hands back over Owen's. The Red mage had left his hands on Parker's ribs after the snap, but neither one of them was complaining.

“Who did it?” Owen asked eventually.

“I don't know,” Parker told him.

“Yellow mage, then.”

Every Type had a specialty. Red mages could call upon raw Power with ease; a Green mage was the best at Empathy; Blue mages were best with praetors; Yellow mages were the best at manipulating and controlling minds; Purple mages were 'true Elementals' in that they could learn to master all four; Orange mages were best at summoning and banishing items from their Other Chest; White mages could raise and communicate with the dead, and Black mages made the best healers. Beyond that, some had decent talent in other areas. Transformation, for example, didn't discriminate, and Davey, Chainey, and Owen were all good at communicating with the dead.

“Guess so,” Parker agreed.

“I'll find out.”

“It's okay, Owen.”

“No it isn't, Parker, he broke your /ribs/, he could have hit your lung.”

“It wasn't that close.”

“Yeah, well...”

There was a pause.

“I worry about you, Princess.”

“I'm okay, Owen. Promise.”

“Alright, well—”

“No 'well',” Parker interrupted. “I'm okay.”

“Ready to head down to lunch?”

They had an off-period— 'study and sleep' was its official name— before lunch, and this was how they'd been forced to use it today. Healing Parker. Usually, this was the one period they could use for something besides magic; it made a good cool-down period so they weren't completely burnt by their second period after lunch.

They'd both be burnt at this rate.

“I'm not hungry,” Parker replied, getting up to go lie down on his bed.

“You'll burn out if you don't eat,” Owen reminded him.

“Yeah, well, I'm not hungry. You go.”

“There's no point in my going without you.”

“Yeah there is. You'll burn out if you don't eat, after all.”

“Parker.”

“Just go, Owen.”

“No.” Owen sat down next to him, putting his hands in Parker's hair. “You're not okay, Princess.”

“No, Owen, I'm fine,” Parker protested, but the edge on his voice told the rest of the story.

“Okay.” Owen dragged his fingernails across Parker's scalp, and Parker let out a sigh.

After a few moments had passed like this, Owen running his hands through Parker's hair, Parker seeming to slowly melt into the duvet as he did, Parker finally said, “Promise you won't over-react?”

“If by over-react, you mean threaten to use their body parts as jewelry, then no, but I won't... directly murder anyone,” Owen replied, grinning.

Parker snickered. “That's reassuring, but... don't tell anyone else? _Especially_ Davey.”

Owen become suddenly serious. “Promise.”

“Alan's been back to his shit.”

Owen's hands balled up in his hair. “Alan?”

“You know the one. Orange mage, uses his Other Chest to store contraband, painfully stupid...”

“I'm going to _kill_ him. I'm going to find him and murder him,” Owen growled.

“ _Owen_...”

“Alright, fine, I'm going to pry each of his teeth from his disgusting mouth and turn them in a headband. And when I'm finished, I'm going to cauterize his mouth with whatever shitty Fire I can cook up. If he's still alive when I'm done with that, I'm going to sic a praetor on him. Something big, a lion or a bear or something. Won't kill him, but if it doesn't scare the shit out of him I don't know what will. Speaking of praetors, why haven't you conjured yourself one?”

“I'm not allowed one.”

“Allowed?”

“Alan.”

“I am going to—”

“Teeth, fire, praetor, I know.”

“I'm also going to use his blood to write my next theory.”

“Alright. As long as you don't kill him.”

“I'm not, I'm going to make him _suffer_.”

“Owen, calm down. Breathe.”

“I am breathing. Anything... anything you actually want me to do?”

“Hair. Go back to whatever it was you were doing before I brought up Alan. It was— mm, yeah. That. And uh, lunch sounds okay. So, maybe, like, ten minutes and we go down to lunch?”

“Ten?”

“Maybe five, I dunno... I might fall asleep, I dunno...”

“We have fifteen minutes left in this block.”

“I've gotta eat eventually...”

“I can send a message to your brother and ask him to save you some food.”

“No, not him, send it to Micah. He'll get enough, he'll know what's going on, and he won't make a big deal. Davey hates you, Micah's okay with you.”

A little sphere of light appeared in front of Owen, who said “Open only for Micah McQuistan. I need you to bring food to Parker and I for Theory. Don't ask stupid questions, just bring it. Close.”

The light flew off, and Owen went back to petting Parker's hair, stopping to scratch behind Parker's ears when he got to them.

“Hand,” Parker demanded, holding out one of his hands to Owen. Owen laughed quietly, kissing his knuckles and taking his hand. They had days like this, where one was subject to the other's whims, and if this was one of those days then so be it.

Ten quiet minutes passed like this, Owen holding Parker's hand and massaging his scalp.

“Princess, might wanna get back into formal,” Owen pointed out at last. “Got about five minutes before we have to go to Theory.”

“Fuck formal,” Parker replied.

“It's a Wednesday and Blue isn't in the low house. Normally, I'd say go for it, but...”

“Probably in enough trouble as it is, you're right.”

“That's... not even remotely what I was going to say.”

“Well, it's what I heard.”

He sat up, letting go of Owen's hand as he did. He'd taken off his robe, gloves, and coat when they'd come back to the dorm, left in a shirt, tie and trousers, an ensemble that would have been a dress code violation anywhere but a dorm tower until exams week or a free-dress Friday.

“What I was going to say is that we're doing a blood ritual in Orange today, so you might want to have something over your shirt,” Owen said. “Pig's blood, don't worry.”

“What's even the point of Orange? Do people actually use their Other Chests, or is it just Orange mages?” Parker asked, pulling his robe over his head.

“I use my Other Chest.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Shit that I don't feel like carrying.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant as, like, a general thing. Like, oh, shit, don't know when I'll need this, better put it in my Other Chest. Who does that?”

“Just Orange mages.”

A chime rang out across the school, and Owen cursed quietly.

“Fucking theory... you coming, Princess?”

Parker nodded, apprehensively poking at the spot that had, scarcely half an hour ago, been a broken rib. “You did a pretty good job with this...”

“Not bad for a Red mage, huh?”

“Not bad for anyone who's not a healer,” he agreed. “We going or not?”

“After you.”

 


End file.
